


5 Times Ronan Lynch Gets Honking Mad (and 1 Time Adam Fixes It)

by JayJEx



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Adam is tired, Crack, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Geese, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Post-Canon, Ronan is not having fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-24 20:02:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20711726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayJEx/pseuds/JayJEx
Summary: Adam scoffs. “Are you joking?” Ronan can hear him trying not to laugh. “Please tell me you’re joking.”“I’m dead fucking serious,” says Ronan, furtively checking over his shoulder to see if it’s still there, still watching. “The thing has it out for me. I can see it in its eyes: it wants to murder me with its bare hands.”“It’s agoose,”says Adam. Behind him, the goose honks menacingly from its position at the window, its beady little coal black eyes fixed directly onto Ronan in an ominous and terrifying stare.-or-The Untitled Goose Game AU





	5 Times Ronan Lynch Gets Honking Mad (and 1 Time Adam Fixes It)

It started on an average summer day, hot and muggy and humid but otherwise unremarkable.

Not that Ronan had realised that it started, which had been the first and most egregious of his mistakes by far. By now, he’d like to think that he has a good sense for the early stages of dangerous, horrifying, life changing and life threatening events, having experienced many of those himself in his short twenty one years of life. But it was hot, and early in the morning, and he was tired, and he’d just spent all of the night before using the first day of his poor, recently returned boyfriend’s summer break to sate all of his Adam-related desires, and he was still riding the post-coital bliss all the way through his sleep and well into the next morning. He was happy. He felt loved.

He’d gotten careless.

And perhaps if he’d been more attentive, he’d have recognized the signs for what they were: a herald of death and destruction, a harbinger of hell itself, a horseman straight from the cursed pages of Revelations. Had he known the curse that would come to pass in his land, he’d have drained his lakes of all of their water, salted the earth to infertility, razed his grounds in the cleansing fires of the inferno itself, because nothing less would sufficiently purge his household of the evil that plagued him.

But instead, like a fool, when he saw the goose resting serenely in one of the larger ponds of the Barns, pruning its feathers with its beak like an assassin sharpening its daggers, all he’d said was “Oh. A goose. Cool.” And then he’d strolled off, content in his ignorance, like a lamb to its fucking slaughter.

* * *

He comes back home to Adam sprawled out on the old couch in the living room shirtless, which would normally mean very good things for Ronan’s libido, except Adam is currently giving him a very icy glare for some reason.

“Uhh,” says Ronan, moving to sit next to him on the couch. “What’s with the angriness on your face -”

“Back,” says Adam, batting at him with his hand. “Maintain at least a five foot buffer distance from my body.”

“What?” says Ronan, indignant. He does back away, however. “What do you mean - I didn’t even do anything!” He pauses. “Did I?”

Adam grimaces, closing his eyes. “You have the self control and restraint of a preschooler on crack,” he says. “And I am very, very, very sore, so until I can walk like a normal person again, you are banned from touching me.”

“Oh come on!” Ronan protests. “How the fuck is that fair?”

Adam looks him dead in the eyes. “You did this to me,” he says gravely. “Now suffer the consequences.”

“How is this my fault?”

_”I told you to be gentle!”_

“I _was_ being gentle - well ok fine,” Ronan concedes as Adam’s icy glare rakes over him once again, “so I went _a little_ overboard.”

_“A little?”_ says Adam. He gestures downward at his legs, probably to hep Ronan visualize the amount of pain he’s in, though all Ronan ends up visualizing are the hickeys he knows he’d left around Adam’s hips. “And don’t think I can’t see where you’re looking right now, by the way. I stand by the necessity of the five foot barrier.”

“I didn’t fucking hear you complaining last night,” says Ronan, rolling his eyes. “You were too busy screaming my name while I -”

“Banned,” says Adam firmly. “24 hours. No touching.”

“This is cruel and unusual,” says Ronan.

“You can’t lecture me about ‘cruel and unusual,’” says Adam. “I’m the one who’s in too much pain to get up and walk to the kitchen to get a glass of water.”

Ronan gives him a look. “Do you want me to get you a glass of water?” he asks indulgently.

“...please?”

Ronan gets up to oblige him, dutifully walking to the kitchen to retrieve a glass of water for him. He sets the glass down on the coffee table, where he knows it’s just out of Adam’s grasp. Adam doesn’t even waste his time trying to reach for it, just fixes his gaze on Ronan. He looks hilariously disappointed.

“I’ve brought you your water,” says Ronan.

“Give it to me,” says Adam.

“What do you mean, it’s right there,” says Ronan. “Just grab it -”

“Ronan, if you want to live to see the light of tomorrow’s sun, _then put that glass in my hand right now or so help me God, I’ll -”_

“Ok, jeez, fucking fine,” says Ronan, reaching over to place the glass into Adam’s outstretched, expectant hand. “Any other requests?”

Adam somehow manages to drink lying down without spilling the water all over his face. “Yes,” he says, setting the now empty glass on the floor next to the couch. “Bring me something to throw at you.”

“You have a perfectly good glass right there.”

Adam frowns. “I’m not going to throw a glass at you.”

“Aww,” Ronan croons at him, smiling impishly. “You do care -”

Adam reaches for the glass. “I’ve changed my mind.”

“Ok, ok,” says Ronan, holding his hands up in surrender. He sits down on the couch, considerately maintaining a buffer of at least one cushion between them, as per Adam’s wishes. “No joking, no touching, no fucking allowed, five feet away, I get it.”

Adam rolls his eyes and angles his head away from Ronan, though not fast enough for Ronan to miss the pout on his face. “I was kidding about the five feet thing,” he says. “You can come closer.”

Ronan immediately shifts closer, pressing the side of his leg against the crown of Adam’s head. Adam wiggles gingerly in response, bringing his head to rest on Ronan’s thigh. Ronan runs his hands through Adam’s hair, drawing a content sigh from him in the process.

“Hey,” says Ronan teasingly.

“Hey yourself,” Adam responds, almost begrudgingly. “How’s the farm?”

Ronan shrugs. “It’s a farm,” he says. “Hot. Humid. Muddy.”

“Same as always, then?” says Adam, eyes closed.

“Pretty much.”

“Cool,” says Adam. He leans his head back, pressing it into Ronan’s hand.

“There was one new thing,” says Ronan. “I think I saw a goose in one of the lakes past the pastures.”

That seems to get Adam’s attention. His eyes come open again, and his lips quirk themselves into a frown. “A goose?”

“What?” says Ronan. “Have something against geese?”

“Not in particular,” says Adam, looking considerate. “I’ve just heard that geese can be pests at times.”

And it’s this, more than anything else that should have tipped Ronan off, because more than reason, more than instinct, more than anything else in the world, Ronan trusts Adam’s gut. They disagree on the nature of Adam’s insight. Ronan calls it magic. Adam insists it’s _“actually using his brain every once in a while.”_ Either way, Ronan knows from experience that 999 times out of 1000, if Adam opens his mouth to speak, he’s right.

Yet still he does nothing, just runs his hand through Adam’s hair, contentedly ignorant of the approaching plague.

#### I.

It truly begins on a morning much cooler than the one preceding it, before the summer sun could rise and melt away the sparkling dew of the night before, when Ronan steps outside to find his vegetable garden in complete and utter disarray. His potatos have been mashed. His carrots have been uprooted and thrown into disarray. His green beans are no longer green or beans, the majority of them having been reduced to a pile of pale mush on the ground. His tomatoes have been prematurely turned to sauce and then strewn across the rest of the garden like a horror movie scene of bloody entrails.

And standing in the middle of it all was the clear culprit itself, the wild goose, currently stuffing it’s face with what was left of Ronan’s cabbages.

“What the actual fuck?” says Ronan, staring uncomprehendingly at the carnage before him. The goose drops the cabbage it had been munching on to turn to him and unleash the most unholy, godless honking sound that Ronan’s eardrums have ever had the displeasure of perceiving before it pilfers a chunk of spinach and starts rapidly waddling back towards the newly created goose sized gap in the side of the fence surrounding his garden.

Ronan starts chasing after it, though he doesn’t have anything on him to help him catch a goose, and he doesn’t have a game plane beyond just running and shouting at it, so he accomplishes little more than angrily shaking his fists. “Fuck off!” he yells at its retreating figure. “Leave my vegetables the fuck alone, you piece of shit!” And then he has nothing left to do but listlessly survey the shattered remains of his poor, sad vegetable garden.

* * *

When he tells Adam, all Adam says is “Oh, that sucks.”

“What the fuck?” says Ronan, pausing in his search for his hammer and nails to give Adam a disgruntled look. “That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?”

“Oh no, your garden, how could this happen, I’m so sorry, what a tragedy,” says Adam, monotone and all in one breath.

“Thanks, I feel very fucking supported right now,” says Ronan.

Adam shrugs. “I’d be more sympathetic if I didn’t know your garden has magic dream soil and can regrow everything in the space of, like, two weeks.”

“Two weeks isn’t enough time,” Ronan grumbles. “I don’t have enough pepper preserves for the farmer’s market, Opal keeps eating them.”

Adam gives him a funny look. “Is it bad that I forget that you do legimate farmer things now?”

“Fuck you,” says Ronan, though it’s lacking his usual malice. He finds the hammer, shoved far back into one of the cabinets below the kitchen counter. “I do legit farmer things all the fucking time. I’m going to go fix a fence right now.”

“Wow, look at you go,” says Adam teasingly. “My boyfriends a real farmer, thank you very much. He grows vegetables and fixes fences -”

“Fuck off,” says Ronan. He digs up a couple of nails out of a drawer near the kitchen sink. “I need to go make sure this stupid goose can’t get back into my vegetable garden.”

“Wait,” says Adam, finally looking up at him from his laptop, “are you fixing the fence to keep the goose out?”

“Why the fuck else would I be fixing the fence?”

Adam closes his eyes and presses his fingers against the bridge of his nose. “Ronan,” he says slowly, “you do know that geese can fly, right?”

Ronan drops his hammer. Actually, he drops his whole body, bringing himself down to rest belly down on the floor, cradling his face in his arms with a groan of misery. He looks forlornly up at Adam.

Adam gives him a sympathetic look. “Do you want me to order you an anti-bird net on Amazon?”

“Yes,” says Ronan dejectedly. 

#### II.

He wakes up to the gentle clucking of chickens outside of his window, which he doesn’t think much of until he remembers that he stays in his parent’s old room now and the chicken coop is on the other side of the house.

He whips himself out of bed, ignoring Adam’s sleepy disgruntled protest at having his arms dislodged from around Ronan, and rushes straight out the back door to find a chicken on his back porch.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” says Ronan. The chicken, of course, just clucks mindlessly back at him. “How the fuck did you even get out?”

He makes his way over to the chicken coop, a sinking feeling in his gut. Sure enough, when he arrives the goose is making itself comfortable in the center of his coop, serenely preening at its feathers right next to the new hole on the side of the fence.

“Come on!” Ronan yells at it. “You’re a goose! You can fly! Why’d you have to wreck my fucking fence?”

The goose honks at him.

“Fuck you too! Stupid bird piece of shit! Do you have any idea how long it’s going to take me to get all of my chickens back inside of the fucking coop, you think I have time to chase around a bunch of chickens -”

And that’s how Adam finds him: dressed in his pyjamas, barefoot, standing on the dirt next to his coop screaming at a goose.

“Oh,” says Adam when he reaches him. “Well. You know, I - I don’t know what I expected, to be honest.”

“Look at this bullshit!” says Ronan, gesturing aggressively at the goose. The goose honks again.

“I have eyes, Ronan,” Adam rolls them for good measure, just to prove his point. “I can see the goose.”

“It let my chickens out!” says Ronan.

“I can also see that,” says Adam, sparing a halfhearted glance at one of the chickens currently pattering about his feet. “Can we go back to sleep now?”

“What do you mean - no!” says Ronan.

“Please?” says Adam, visibly stifling a yawn. “Come on, it’s so early, can’t we just deal with this later?”

“No fucking sleeping,” says Ronan, deadly serious. “I’m gonna catch that goose and wring that fucker by his goddamn neck.”

Adam leans his head slightly over to look past him. “Well,” he says turning back to him, “if that’s your plan, you better hurry.”

Ronan whips his head around to see the goose already waddling out of the coop and back towards its fucking lake. “Fuck,” says Ronan. He takes off running after the goose. “Fuck!”

* * *

By the time he comes back empty handed, Adam has already managed to patch a piece of wood onto the broken part of the fence: a temporary fix no doubt, but good enough for the time being (unlike the goose, his chickens are _civilized_ and won’t try to break his fucking fence, thank you very much).

“How’d the goose-chasing go?” says Adam.

“Shut up,” says Ronan. He sighs and sinks onto the ground in front of his coop. “This sucks.”

“Yep,” says Adam.

Ronan glances at the new wood haphazardly nailed onto the fence. “Did you fix that for me?”

Adam shrugs. “I did my best,” he says. “I don’t really know how to fix fences. I’m not a farmer like you.”

“Nah, you did fine,” says Ronan. He sighs and lets his hand flop onto the ground next to him. “I don’t want to have to chase around a bunch of chickens,” he whines.

“Oh, you don’t need to worry about that,” says Adam. “Most of them are already back in the coop.” And sure enough, when Ronan glances over, the coop is filled with a decent amount of chickens.

“Huh,” says Ronan. “How’d you pull that off?”

Adam opens his mouth to answer but is cut off by Opals voice, yelling from the distance. “Adam!” she says, running up to him. She’s holding something in her arms, Ronan realizes. Something _white and feathery_. “I caught another chicken!”

“Very good, Opal,” says Adam. He takes the chicken from her and gently places it down inside the coop. Then, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a piece of candy and hands it to her. “Go get some more.”

“Come back here, Mr. Chickens!” yells Opal as she tears back down the path and away from Adam again, her hooves carrying her faster than either of them could ever hope to run.

Ronan meets Adam’s gaze. “You’re a fucking genius.”

“I know,” says Adam.

“I love you so much,” says Ronan.

“You’d better,” says Adam.

#### III.

It takes him an embarrassingly long time, but he manages to fashion a reasonably sturdy cage that’s big enough to hold the goose out of what little wood he has left and some wire mesh. He lines the latch up perfectly so that it will close and lock automatically when the door swings shut. Then he attaches a rod to the center to prop the door open, so that when something enters, it’ll shift the rod and the door will swing shut. He tests it, first propping the door and then using his hand to quickly trip the rod. The door swings shut and the latch firmly locks it into place.

Adam gives him a slightly judgemental look. “If you’d put this much effort into any of your school work, you would have been valedictorian.”

“School was stupid.”

“And this isn’t?”

“I have to catch that fucking goose,” says Ronan, darkly pounding his fist on the counter to emphasize his point.

“You know you can, like, call an actual professional to do it for you?” says Adam. “You don’t have to do all of this by yourself.”

“No,” says Ronan stubbornly. “I have to catch it myself.”

“I could call for you,” says Adam. “You wouldn’t even have to touch the phone, it would be _so_ easy -”

Ronan grabs a piece of cabbage he’d saved from the wreckage of his garden. “I’m setting the fucking trap now.”

Adam sighs. “Good luck,” he says, begrudgingly.

* * *

He waits a solid hour by the window before the goose finally shows up, power waddling up to the cage. It eyes the cabbage inside with curiosity, and for one solid, glorious second, Ronan thinks his plan may have actually worked.

And then he watches in horror the goose walks to the side of his cage and starts _ripping the mesh right off of it like flesh from bone_.

It pries the cabbage from the cage like a heart from a chest and swallows it in a single gulp. And then, seemingly spotting Ronan in the window looking at him, it waddles over to honk aggressively at him.

Adam joins him at the window. He takes a moment to glance outside and down at the shattered corpse of his trap alongside a madly honking goose.

“So how’s the goose-trapping going?” he asks.

“If something happens to me,” says Ronan, “you need to take care of Opal.”

“What?” says Adam.

“Make sure I’m buried at St. Agnes,” says Ronan.

Adam scoffs. “Are you joking?” Ronan can hear him trying not to laugh. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“I’m dead fucking serious,” says Ronan, furtively checking over his shoulder to see if it’s still there, still watching. “The thing has it out for me. I can see it in its eyes: it wants to murder me with its bare hands.”

“It’s a _goose,”_ says Adam. Behind him, the goose honks menacingly from its position at the window, its beady little coal black eyes fixed directly onto Ronan in an ominous and terrifying stare.

“It’s a goose that wants to fucking murder me with its bare hands,” says Ronan.

Adam huffs out a sigh. “It doesn’t even have hands.”

“Fine. Its fucking - flippers then, I don’t know.”

Adam gives him a look. “Will it make you feel better if I reinforce the locks on our bedroom?”

“Yes,” says Ronan.

Adam rolls his eyes.

#### IV.

He waits to try again until his latest package ships to him. He opens the Amazon package and brandishes the fine meshed bird net he finds inside like a soldier with a weapon.

“Ok, the trap was an actual halfway decent idea, I’ll give you that much,” says Adam, giving him a once over. “This is just stupid.”

“I’m going to go catch a goose,” says Ronan.

“You know that net is for, like, sparrows and stuff,” says Adam. “It’s not gonna work on a goose.”

“I’m going to go catch a goose,” says Ronan.

“You do remember you can dream magic things,” says Adam, sounding exhausted. “You could just dream magical anti-goose spray or something -”

_“I’m going to catch a fucking goose, Parrish,”_ says Ronan.

Adam turns back to his computer. “Your funeral,” he says.

* * *

He gently tiptoes his way over towards the ponds, carefully stepping through the dirt and brush surrounding them. He ducks around trees, skirts around bushes, nearly trips over a stray root on the ground, all the while trying to stay out of sight of any potential feathery spectators. He makes his way over to the pond’s edge and crouches down in the bush at the edge of the pond in waiting.

And then he’s immediately startled forward and into the water by a loud and terrifying honk from behind him.

He manages to sit up in the lake only to find that the goose stepped over him and is now _making off with his fucking net._ Ronan curses and grabs for it, but the goose is long out of his reach now, and he only succeeds in getting himself even more thoroughly soaked than he was before.

“Fuck you!” Ronan yells through the mouthful of pond water he spits out. “You stupid piece of shit!”

* * *

“Not one word,” says Ronan.

Adam smiles innocently at him. “So how was the -”

_“Not one word,”_ says Ronan.

“That was at least four words.”

“Not what I meant.”

Adam sighs, reaching over to fondly run a hand over Ronan’s cheek. “Do you want me to get you lunch? Will that make you feel less bad?”

Ronan says nothing, only nods dejectly, cradling Adam’s hand into his cheek.

“Ok,” says Adam. “What do you want for lunch.”

“Goose,” says Ronan.

“I’ll get Chinese,” says Adam, pulling out his phone. “We can order the duck.”

#### V.

They go on a picnic for Adam’s birthday. Ronan’s been planning it for months. He picked out a spot, checked the weather, packed their basket, bought the most expensive champagne he thought he could get away with without Adam accusing of overspending, dreamed Adam a nice watch, he double checked the weather, hid the basket in the fridge behind his copius amount of milk that he knows Adam doesn’t touch, he’d made sure everything was perfect.

“Wow,” says Adam once they reach the top of the hill. “This place looks beautiful.”

“Eh,” says Ronan, going for casual and missing by a wide, wide margin. “It’s ok.”

Adam gives him a look. “Just ok?”

“Not as beautiful as you are,” Ronan quips with a smirk.

His efforts earn him a light shove from Adam. “That was bad,” he says. “And don’t pretend like you haven’t put a lot of planning into this.”

“I have no clue what you mean,” says Ronan. 

Adam gives him a decidedly skeptical look. “I saw the picnic basket in the fridge, Ronan,” he says. “You didn’t hide it that well -”

_“I have no clue what you mean, Parrish,”_ says Ronan, louder this time.

“You know what,” says Adam, “I’d call you out on your bullshit, but this is actually, genuinely really sweet, and I’d hate to discourage you from doing things like this, so I’ll let you get away with it.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” says Adam, settling himself primly onto the blanket Ronan laid out earlier. “So, what sort of food did you pack for us in the -” he cuts himself, his gaze fixed onto something behind Ronan.

“What?” says Ronan. He turns around following Adam’s gaze to a point about thirty feet away from them -

Where the goose was standing, holding their _fucking picnic basket in its shitty little beak_.

“Ronan,” says Adam, softly, as if trying not to spook him. “It’s ok -”

“You. Utter. Piece of _shit_ -” Ronan yells, and then he’s on his feet. He pulls his shoe off, and throws it at goose, though he’s unbalanced and angry and the throw goes wide, sending his shoe spiraling off towards the brush at the base of the hill, nowhere near the goose. “You motherfucking stupid piece of shit bird! Do you have any idea how long I’ve been planning this fucking -”

And then he trips on a rock and faceplants into the dirt.

The goose honks at him before turning away and walking off, basket still held in its beak. “Fuck off! You dumbass piece of shit!” Ronan yells at its tailfeathers. “You ruin everything! I hate you -”

(“Right,” says Adam, pulling out his phone. “This nonsense has gone on long enough.”)

#### (VI.)

He’s on his way to get the door when Adam yells from behind him.

“That’s for me!” he says. “Don’t answer that door, it’s for me.”

“Oh,” says Ronan. “Well ok.” And then he turns around and goes back to making lunch while Adam shoots past him and slips out the door, closing it quickly behind him.

He’s just finished the soup and turned off the heat when he feels a pair of arms wrap themselves around his neck.

“Hey,” says Adam into his ear.

“Hey,” says Ronan. “What’s up?”

“I want to try something,” says Adam.

“Oh, ok. Is it the soup?” says Ronan, very, very distracted by the proximity of Adam’s mouth to his ears. “Do you want to try the soup?”

“It’s not the soup,” Adam sing-songs.

“Is it the - oh,” says Ronan, finally picking up on where Adam is going with is. _”Oh._ You mean, like, _‘try something’_ try something.”

“That is what I mean, yes,” says Adam.

“Bedroom?” suggests Ronan.

“Bedroom,” Adam confirms, and then Ronan lets himself get led by the hand through his house to the bedroom.

Adam gently shoves him backwards onto the bed when they get there. “Hands up,” he commands. Ronan obliges him, lifting his hands up above his head. Adam climbs on top of him, straddling his hips, and reaches behind him to pull _an honest to god pair of handcuffs out from behind his back_.

“Wait, holy shit -” says Ronan, as Adam reaches over his face to chain one of his wrists. He wraps the other handcuff around the frame of the bed before securely fastening it to Ronan’s other hand. Ronan gives them a tentative tug, testing their limits, surprised to find very little give. It’s very likely that this is an _actual pair of real life handcuffs._ “Oh my god - this is actually kinky as hell, Parrish, what the fuck?”

“I just wanted to try it,” says Adam.

“Oh my god, my fucking boyfriend's a _freak_, holy shit -”

“You know what?” says Adam. “Just for that -” and then he pulls out a roll of tape, rips off a piece and sticks it straight over Ronan’s mouth.

Ronan can’t exactly speak anymore, but he does hum, loudly and in a sing-song voice to express his approval.

“Ok, great,” says Adam, and then, to Ronan’s surprise, starts to shift off of him. “Now that that’s done, just - uh - I’ll be back. Don’t move.” And then he gets off the bed walks away from Ronan and out of the room entirely, shutting the door behind him.

Ronan gives the handcuffs a few more experimental tugs, but otherwise remained relatively still, obeying Adam’s directions. He hears footsteps heading back towards the bedroom, this time accompanied by a voice.

“How long is this going to take?” Adam asks, his voice only slightly muffled by the closed door between them.

“Ehh, maybe an hour or two,” comes another voice, making Ronan lift his head in confusion. _Who’s with Adam?_

“Really?” says Adam.

“Well, it kind of depends,” says the other voice. “Catching geese can be kind of tricky,” and Ronan realizes what’s happening. He pulls hard on the cuffs, but they stayed tight around his wrist, holding strong despite his best efforts. He cranes his head backwards to see if there’s a chance of breaking the bedframe, but it was one of the solid metal ones, and Adam had trapped him against one of it’s thicker parts, so he has little chance of breaking it.

“Yeah,” says Adam with a laugh, “I kind of figured.” Ronan struggles more, pulling at the cuffs with as much force as he can muster. No dice.

“Tried to catch it yourself, did you?” says the other voice. Ronan tries jerking the cuffs repetitvely.

“Nothing like that,” says Adam. Ronan shouts against his closed mouth, but the gag keeps the sound from traveling very far.

“That’s good,” says the other voice. “Geese can be _real_ slippery at times. People get real worked up.”

“Sounds like a nightmare,” says Adam, and then their voices drift out of earshot again, and Ronan is left to struggle against his bonds in silence.

Adam returns, a few moments later. Ronan fixes him with his best glare.

“Oh, you heard that didn’t you,” says Adam. He walks over and pulls the tape off of Ronan’s mouth. “You should really invest in better soundproofing, these walls block nothing.”

Ronan spits out some of the adhesive that had gotten into his mouth. “You traitor,” he says.

“Hm, hm, yeah, of course, I’m a real Brutus,” says Adam disinterestedly, balling up the tape and flicking it nonchalantly off to the side.

“You called someone to get the goose?”

“I hired a professional, yes,” says Adam fixing him with a look. “Call me all the names you want. I only have so much time to spend with you, I can’t have you wasting all of it on a literal goose chase.”

“You vixen,” says Ronan. “I can’t fucking believe this. I trusted you, and you stabbed me in my fucking back -”

Adam pulls his pants down.

“I forgive you,” says Ronan.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” says Adam.

**Author's Note:**

> Honk honk bby.
> 
> This work was inspired by [Untitled Goose Game](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9LL2AtHo1gk), a new indie game by House House where you get to run around and be a goose and terrify poor, unsuspecting bystanders (like Ronan :D). It's probably not a secret that I love indie games, and this game perfectly encompasses everything about my sense of humor.


End file.
